


Leather Fantasy

by Sourwoif



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sarcasm, Stiles being a horn dog like usual, cocky assholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 23:17:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sourwoif/pseuds/Sourwoif
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: sakuralightangel - "I was wondering could you do a Sterek/Damon Salvatore fic!!"</p><p>In which Stiles was looking for one dark haired, leather-wearing supernatural dick, and accidentally found another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leather Fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> (I literally had to look up Damon Salvatore and read up on him because I don’t watch Vampire Diaries. However, he has a familiar personality that I’ve seen often, and Ian Smoldereyes or whatever his name is isn’t bad to look at either)
> 
> (I’m sorry for any inaccuracies, I don’t watch Vampire Diaries so all character stuff was done as last minute research)

                “Derek!” Stiles called, trying to out yell the loud music of the Jungle. It was impossible to get a clear look at anybody with the writhing bodies shoving him side to side as he made his way through the crowd. He was a little buzzed, so he wasn’t so bothered by all his stumbling. It was a good night, but he just wanted to find his stupid, ridiculously hot werewolf.

                Then, like a leather fantasy come to life, he spotted the faint outline of a body with clinging, near-illegal clothing. Ah, there he was. If he hadn’t been so cheerfully oblivious, he would have considered that there would be quite a few leather jacket and tight jean wearing individuals out in a gay club. Stiles leaned to whisper into Derek’s ear from behind, his hand resting on the other’s arm.

                “Sorry I wandered off, crowd’s crazy as hell tonight.” He wondered when Derek had shrunk, because he was almost certain the werewolf was at least his height, and…he also did not have straight hair. Or such pale skin. Or lack of stubble. And he certainly didn’t have amused blue eyes that were now staring at him. “Crap, sorry dude.” Stiles let go and stepped back with an awkward laugh, scratching his neck, “Thought you were- uhh not you.” He turned to go, about to return to his search when a hand was on his shoulder and pulling him back. Oh god, this guy was hot.  _Maybe leather and tight pants is my fetish? Because goddamn_. Stiles thought, staring without a hint of subtlety.

 

                “Need some help looking for someone?” The stranger asked, his clinical eyes dragging up Stiles’ body as he spoke. Faintly, he recalled Peter. He had darker blue eyes, but they held the same hidden darkness, a scar that Stiles had now learned to recognize from seeing it in the mirror. It took a moment before he realized he’d been asked a question.

                “Oh- no man, I’m good. Thanks for offering, but I’m fine.” Stiles stepped back to try and leave again, but he was stopped just the same.

                “I can’t, in good conscience, let a cute guy like you go wandering off alone. Let me help you,” The man insisted, his lips curved into a faint smirk. He looked confident, and it should have pissed Stiles off, but it was his luck that he had the hots for cocky assholes(pun intended). It was a good thing that he never got the chance to respond, because he probably would’ve just sputtered and dropped his pants.

                “He’s not looking for anyone anymore.” Derek was already there, pushing the stranger back with a firm shove and stepping in front of Stiles. What an asshole. God he loved him. And then the stranger does a weird twitch- and oh, fangs. He mentally cursed his luck. He only seemed  to gravitate towards supernatural dicks, almost like it was magic. Stiles barely refrained from rolling his eyes in irritation when Derek puffed up like a testosterone ridden alpha male (technically beta werewolf in this case, however), and flashed equally intimidating fangs with a splash of glowing eyes.

                “Wow, this club is  _filled with people_ ,” Stiles said loudly, with as much emphasis and exasperation as he possibly could without physically waving his hands at them and yelling ‘Look at all the fucks you should be giving!’. It seemed to work, however, and Derek smoothed his ruffled feathers, as did the stranger. Of course, then the mandatory supernatural staring contest had to begin. He threw back his head and made the most obnoxious groan he could. It seemed to work because Derek threw him an irritated glance. Good, he was going to be annoying because they were seriously harshing his buzz with their smoldering contest.

                He was back to being ignored again. It was like he was missing out on all the subtle hints of arguing the two leather-clad assholes were having. Maybe that lip pucker was Derek saying “Fuck you my ass looks nicer in jeans”, and maybe that squint was the stranger saying, “Fine, but can your eyebrows convey your inner angst as skillfully as mine? I don’t think so”. Stiles quickly grew bored after thirty seconds of trying to decipher their secret ‘hot guy’ language, and instead looked between them and started making comparisons. About ten seconds later, his eyes were glazed over, and he was imagining those differences pressed against opposite sides of his body.

                Apparently, all it took was fantasizing about him and strangers to get Derek to pay attention, because it wasn’t long before the werewolf’s gaze snapped to Stiles and he barked out, “Don’t even think about it.”

                “Too late.” Stiles grinned, laughing under his breath as he shoved his hands into his back pockets, not even bothered to hide the way he raked his eyes up the stranger’s body. Art needs appreciation after all. Derek scowled and seemed to glare with new and improved vehemence at the preening stranger.

                “I’m not in town long, you know.” The stranger drawled, his eyes trained on Stiles’ lips, “And I’m really lonely. You wouldn’t deny a man simple pleasures, would you, wolfy?”

                Stiles bit his lip, his body rocking forward instinctively. Derek ruined the effect, stepping further between the two with barely reigned in aggression and tightly clenched. “You shouldn’t be in this town at all,” He spat.

                “Last time I checked, this was America, and the law says I’m free to do as I please.”

                “Last time  _I_ checked, the law of nature says that dead things should be buried.”

                “Oh my god,” Stiles shoved himself between the both of them, “I get it, you both wear leather and hide in closets, shut the hell up!”

                The stranger huffed a laugh, leaning in, “I wouldn’t mind hiding in  _your_ closet.”

                That sent many images running through Stiles’ mind, and he absentmindedly licked his lips while his eyes jumped from Derek to the stranger many times, like he was creating a dirty film in his head at that very moment. He barely noticed Derek’s jaw ticking, but when he did, he looked at the werewolf with pleading eyes, tugging at his lower lip with tentative teeth.

                “No.” Derek snapped, looking away.

                Stiles shuffled his feet and scratched his cheek.

                “ _No._ ” Derek repeated, a slight snarl in his voice.

                The stranger offered a cheeky grin and waggled his eyebrows with an impish gaze.

***

                They stared at the ceiling, labored breathing echoing throughout the room. The scent of satisfied participants after a well performed threesome permeated the air.

                “That was…” Stiles murmured in an awed tone.

                “Yeah.” Damon breathed from Stiles’ left-hand side.

                Derek just focused on quieting his panting as he slung a leg over the human beside him.

                “So, Damon,” Stiles piped up after a few more dazed minutes passed, “When did you say you were visiting Beacon Hills again?”


End file.
